


That Cape Is To Die For

by TheSoupDragon



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: A Halloween 13 2020, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:08:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27280222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSoupDragon/pseuds/TheSoupDragon
Summary: What could be more fun and romantic than some quality time away in a beautiful old country hotel with the person you love?Well, maybe it depends on whether or not the hotel is haunted, if anyone is about to get pretend-murdered while you’re there, and what Greg has hidden away in his suitcase…
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	That Cape Is To Die For

**Author's Note:**

> Vulpesmellifera, (All hail the) Queen of Hallowe’en, has done it again and we love her for it. 😊This is a completely stand alone story and you don’t need to have read my AH13 entry from last year to understand any of it, but if you like this story, let’s say you will (probably) like that one too. 😬 
> 
> I used the fantastic Mottlemoth prompt generator again this year because last year it gave me such a little gem, and Moth must have some magic generator-gift powers or something, because this year I got this on my first try: 
> 
> This story takes place _"somewhere out of London."_  
>  You must mention _"bats"_ ,  
> use the word _"murder"_ ,  
> and include this line of dialogue; _"Guess what?"_
> 
> A dream of a Hallowe’en prompt, basically!
> 
> See end notes for things that make you go _“What?!”_ in the night*  
> *silly Hallowe’en reference…😬
> 
> Red-faced and coming back to say thank you to the spooky StarsAndStitches for her brilliance at beta-reading, and thank _you_ to Hippocrates460 for reading it out to me and making me laugh!!

_“Stop laughin’!”_ said Greg, good-naturedly, shaking his head in bemused irritation. “C’n I not just like somethin’ without you takin’ the complete piss?” Then he gave in to the inevitable and dug awkwardly and despairingly in the side pocket of the car door for his chammy sponge rectangle and started wiping the windscreen in front of him again. It just kept steaming up. He passed the damp chammy sponge to Mycroft. “Do your side,” he instructed as he turned the windscreen de-mister up again. “Ahhh, bloody rain,” he grumbled at the weather, adjusting the air flow.  
As the passenger, it was easier for Mycroft to reach. He leaned forward and obliged, clearing his own side and the lower part of Greg’s side of the windscreen where he could get to it without obstructing Greg’s view. “Come on, Gregory!” said Mycroft, but he couldn’t stop the smile. “Really? You’re saying you want me to spend my evening watching some sexy Hollywood vampires telling their life stories?” he said disparagingly. “Hasn’t the world got enough problems without a vampire agony column?” He poised the damp sponge carefully on the very edge of the side pocket of his door, so it could air and maybe dry out a little in the footwell car heater before the next use.  
Greg glanced at the sat nav which Mycroft had put onto silent. “It’s not like that!” he protested, “but anyway, that’s the whole point of a film! Some escapism! Come on, at least try and give it a go…you might like it? Tom Cruise is really good in it. And Antonio Banderas at his sinister Spanish best, come on, you’ll enjoy it!”  
Mycroft was smiling but he shook his head. “Well, I’ll give you I did love a good well-made horror film back in the day—”  
Greg laughed. “—What, like Hammer House of Horror?” he interrupted, laughing. “Sorry - since when was any Hammer House a’ Horror film a ‘good well-made horror film’? M, you do make me laugh.” The way Greg said it, he dropped every ‘H’ in the title, which in turn made Mycroft smile too.  
Still, Mycroft opened his mouth to defend himself, but then he looked hard at the silenced sat nav. He put up a hand to make Greg concentrate. “Gregory, slow down,” he said urgently, “I think its somewhere along this road…we’re looking for the—” he looked up and pointed ahead to their left “—look, darling, the B2095, 'The PowderMills Hotel’, that’s the turning we need…”  
Greg instantly mirrored, signalled and manoeuvred like a perfect chauffeur. “Oh, well done,” he sighed in relief. God, what a journey. Driving rain, fog, wind, more driving rain, more fog. Wind. _Jesus._ And the fucking smug sat nav going _“turn around where possible”_ all along the newly built bypass section of the A21 that it didn’t recognise. Greg had told it to shut up and/or fuck off under his breath more than once. Eventually, Mycroft had silenced it silently and watched it instead for imminent turns in this God-forsaken back corner of the Sussex/Kent border which even he didn’t know very well, and he thought he knew Sussex like the back of his hand. Meanwhile, Greg had resolved that the minute he could update the sat nav, he was buying the Brian Blessed narration for the bloody thing. If Sir Brian of Blessed just said, _“Gordon’s alive!”_ on it even once, that would be Worth Every Penny he paid for it, he thought. Could not stand another journey with ‘Smug Sat Nav Sue’ or whatever her bloody name was. 

They were diverted from the main road due to road works, and ended up on a country lane from somewhere near Netherfield to somewhere near Catsfield ( _who makes these names up?_ grumbled Greg silently), and the road gradually grew narrower, twistier and puddlier. As they continued on, it narrowed further and at the next left turn, became high banked and very, very dark. Suddenly there were no streetlights out here in Yokel Land whatsoever. And - just for fun - at that very moment, the rain intensified to what seemed an unnatural degree of 'pissing it down.’  
“ _Je_ -sus….” Greg swore again under his breath. “It’s the bloody monsoon. God forbid we meet someone comin’ the other way….” Mycroft gripped his hands on his knees and watched the darkness loom ahead of them, clearly hoping the same thing. He had been on plenty of roads like this in his time and knew how treacherous they could be.  
“Well, we’ll see their lights if they do,” remarked Mycroft placatingly, worrying silently about deer, badgers or foxes, who used these country roads too and did not carry headlights. He was also aware that potholes abounded on the lesser-used back through-lanes like this one, and he studied the visible part of the road ahead like a hawk. “Where did you find this hotel, anyway?” he asked, deceptively calmly, mainly to relieve the rising tension in the car.  
Greg turned the windscreen wipers up to the next speed. “Never you mind,” he replied over the noise. “Hallowe’en Birthday Surprise.”  
Mycroft smiled despite the precarious driving situation. “I’m so looking forward to a cup of tea….” he murmured, eyeing the sat nav, which now gave an ETA of 12 minutes.  
“Yeah,” agreed Greg, “then a massive great bowl of wine and dinner. I’m starvin’ an' all, are you?”  
Mycroft was. It had been a somewhat fraught journey.

The narrow lane twisted and turned ahead of them and they passed through a copse of trees and then on the other side of the copse, an old brick and flint wall guarding a churchyard. The church itself flashed by in the darkness and Mycroft, catching a glimpse of wooden roof shingles and dark flint and large pale irregular stones in the church walls, resolved to come back and explore it tomorrow. He wasn’t at all religious, but loved the peace and serenity of churches and the soft silence surrounding and enveloping such places of worship. But then a flash of white swooping down, fast and low over the churchyard wall beyond the church ahead of them, drew his attention. A barn owl hunting. Mycroft drew a little involuntary breath at the sight of the owl. He was sure there would be **bats** here too. 

A final few twists of the lane and then it opened up into a wider carriageway, and they could see on the left the beginnings of a tree lined (and, thankfully, well-lit) avenue. Even before they could see the signs for it, it was obvious it was the drive to the hotel. Mycroft breathed a huge audible sigh of relief. Greg swore in heavenly gratitude. “Oh! Thank _Christ_ for that!” he murmured.

As Greg indicated and turned left onto the drive itself, Mycroft could feel his shoulders physically dropping down from his ears and he left out a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding. As if on cue, the torrential downpour began to slacken off, and as the drive curled round between the thick line of trees and widened into a large elegant swirl in front the hotel, they were treated to a clear view of it in all its glory. It was a beautiful old Georgian style building, with huge white sash windows, and several tall chimneys. The front of the hotel was covered with thick woody vines; bare of leaves at this time of year, of course, but Mycroft recognised a wisteria when he saw one. This hotel would look glorious in summer when the great vine was at its finest, covered in swathes of fragrant purple, white and mauve flowers.  
“Oh Gregory, it’s beautiful!” gasped Mycroft in genuine delight, leaning forward to look up at the tall chimneys which were lit to show off their grandeur. He loved old buildings as much as Greg. Greg pulled into an unloading space near the front of the hotel, parked and turned off the engine gratefully.  
“It is, unnit?” he said, smiling at Mycroft.

**Author's Note:**

> Brian Blessed is an English actor who played Prince Vultan in the 1980 film “Flash Gordon”. He is a brilliant character actor, well known for his booming voice and Shakespearean tones. Prince Vultan is probably one of his most iconic film roles. A fan of Brian Blessed launched a Facebook group in 2008 called “Campaign to get Brian Blessed to do a voice-over for my sat nav”, and promptly forgot about it. In February 2010, he revisited it to find 450 members, which inspired him to spread the word and so - within weeks - it had attracted several thousand more followers. Sir Bri bowed to this pressure/demand/the fan-love for his voice, and he only actually went and did it!!  
> (((Later today I will find a clip of him saying 'Gordon's alive!' and put it in here!!!)))
> 
> Those place names Catsfield and Netherfield _are_ real place names!! I looked on the map once I’d found my old Sussex hotel...which is a real hotel and does actually exist! 😆


End file.
